


Shhh

by girlonthepedestal



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, i wanted to write something so i felt productive, just a random fluff thing i guess, so have this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 10:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14235222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlonthepedestal/pseuds/girlonthepedestal
Summary: When Missy comes to, she hears a new voice, and sees a new face, that it takes her a while to recognise.





	Shhh

“Thank Rassilon, you’re wakin’ up…”

The voice is a feminine, earnest Yorkshire burr – and not one Missy recognises, she might add – that possesses echoes of the ninth one. ‘One’ being the Doctor, of course; yes, she’s still thinking about that hare-brained, complete and utter idiot, and she doubts she’ll ever really  _ stop _ . The ninth one, with the over-sized ears and the leather jackets, who looked sensible in his middle-age but also like he might’ve been one of those skinheads in his youth. Of course, she knows it doesn’t work that way, ‘youth’ with Time Lords, but the thought is hilarious, to the point that she laughs to get out her amusement at the very  _ idea  _ of it. This isn’t him, so it’s time to perish the thought, however fun it was to the entertain. 

Missy blinks open her eyes, and waits the agonising while it takes for blurry shapes to be redefined, so that she can observe the owner of the disembodied Northern voice. It’s a blonde woman, whose hair tickles her jaw – she's got very pretty eyes, she thinks, a bright hazel – with a clearly relieved expression on her lips. 

Pushing herself upward on her hands, the brunette tries to get a glimpse of the soft blue, long coat the other is wearing. There’s bright rainbow trim, matching the pattern on her shirt, with bold yellow braces that don’t really fit, per se, but she doesn’t seem to care. Navy culottes, boots, and a bum bag looped around her middle. Not really a fashion statement, and Missy’s about to open her mouth to point that out when all the individual fragments seem to click. The long coat (the lanky one, with the cockatoo hair and the brilliant smile); the rainbows (the sixth one with his rather outrageous, _ Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat- _ esque getup); the braces and boots (baby-faced bow-tie, with his questionable culinary decisions), and the...well, who  _ knew  _ where the bum bag came from. That must be this one’s ‘personal touch’ to a motley outfit. 

She smiles, trying to maintain some of her usual air of power and grace even in this state. “Doctor,” she purred, “I see you’ve finally been able to afford the upgrade.” Then that  _ face  _ clicks with her. “You were that curator from Venice! You’re the one who wrote me that bloody letter.”

The Doctor beams at the compliment, fingers tugging at the braces simply to have something to busy her hands with. That seems to be a necessity, this time around. “Yeah! Isn’t it just  _ brilliant? _ ” And she laughs at Missy’s reaction. “Yeah, I was. And I meant it, ya really would have to try harder than that. As devious as ya are.” Her smile falls, replaced by seriousness. “I was really worried ‘bout ya, Missy – for a while I thought ya were –”

“Shhh.” Missy rests a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. “There’s no need to think about that. I’m fine, and I was going to come back for you, you daft little thing. But how…”

The Doctor’s eyes drop to her hands, guiltily, and she lets out a tentative “Well, erm…” that tells Missy the story without needing to embellish further. Of  _ course  _ the Doctor would be enough of an idiot to expend her own regeneration energy, so shortly after regenerating. 

“You could’ve  _ killed  _ yourself, Doctor,” she scolds, “doing a stupid thing like that.”

And the blonde grins, watery and emotional, as she leans in close, letting her lips brush tentatively over Missy’s.

“Shhh,” she says, “There’s no need ta think about that.”

 


End file.
